


if destiny’s kind, I’ve got the rest of my mind

by rachelweasley



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Codependent dudes in love, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:30:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 21,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7359490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachelweasley/pseuds/rachelweasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when he didn’t remember anything he had felt that pull towards Steve. That had been the reason he saved Steve from drowning. That had been what helped him start recovering his memories, no matter how long it took. That was probably why most of his memories involved Steve one way or another. But that didn’t surprise him.</p><p>Because Bucky loved Steve.</p><p>Or: Bucky learns what it's like to be around Steve again. In the process, he tries to find himself as well as a purpose to live. He may be successful, and Steve may have a hand in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I didn't intend for this to turn into a 21,000+ word long giant but here we are! It was fun to write and I truly hope that you enjoy it.

_I caught my stride._  
_I flew and flied._  
_I know if destiny’s kind, I’ve got the rest of my mind._  
_But my heart, it don’t beat, it don’t beat the way it used to.  
_ For Reasons Unknown - The Killers

 

* * *

 

 

They had been offered a long, spacious apartment not too far from T’challa’s palace. He had told them that it would be okay to stay with him but Steve had insisted that they didn’t want to be a bother, even though they technically already were, what with everything that had happened.

Steve had been reluctant to accept the apartment, no expenses to be paid for, with food and any necessary needs always available as T’challa made sure that they had everything they needed. It was a strong contrast to what they experienced after his father’s death. He had been set for revenge and ready to end Bucky but, as it turned out, his gracious nature allowed him to see more than just the Asset that Hydra had created. T’challa saw Bucky for what he really was – a victim that had been manipulated and villainized for actions that were not under his control. And he would do anything in his power to make sure that innocent men – men like Bucky – were not unfairly punished.

Steve and Bucky had found themselves in Wakanda, having been led there by T’challa himself. It wasn’t safe for them to be anywhere else, not when the government was after them. This was the safest place they could be at, for the time being.

They settled in the apartment not long after.

Bucky mostly kept to himself, deep in thought, preferring not to bother Steve. He would sometimes catch the blond looking expectantly at him and, deep in his mind, he felt like he should offer him something – a look, a smile, a short conversation. But it wasn’t that easy. It was still a shock to him that they were in the presence of each other _without_ fighting. It seemed like it was a set occurrence whenever they were reunited. Except this time Steve hadn’t let Bucky out of his sight. Hell, Steve opposed 117 nations for Bucky. Who does that?

 _That stubborn punk from Brooklyn, that’s who_.

Bucky had let Steve and T’challa know what he wanted to do. Go back to cryogenic sleep. He felt like that would be the safest thing for everyone. He didn’t trust himself. He had been the Asset for years – decades – and who was to tell him that his mind wouldn’t slip back into that setting?

Steve wasn’t surprised, but Bucky could sense the disappointment and sadness in his eyes. He had looked at Bucky for a few moments before letting out a sharp “ _No_ ”. Bucky didn’t understand at first. Steve had no right to make his decisions and no right to negate Bucky’s wishes. And then he had dropped to his knees, his hands tentatively touching Bucky’s knees, and Bucky could only look down at him from his seated position, wondering just what was going through Steve's mind.

 _“I know that you’re scared,”_ he’d said, “ _but you lived two years in Romania without harming a single citizen. Does that tell you nothing about who you are right now? You escaped Hydra, Bucky. You’re not theirs anymore. You’re your own person and you make your own decisions. You’re not a killer_.”

Bucky doubted that. He knew what he had spent years of his life doing. He knew that he had been brainwashed and conditioned to do what they wanted. But at the end of the day? It was still him, one way or another. He could barely live with himself, knowing everything he’d done. All the people he had killed, people he had no recollection of, people who had families. He didn’t know _why_ they had to be killed. But he did it anyway.

Back in Bucharest, he had spent nights awake, hand clutching his gun as he listened carefully, expecting footsteps outside his door. He spent endless sleepless nights and, most of the time, the only thing leading him to sleep was the exhaustion he felt after spending day after day wide awake, in fear. He didn’t trust himself in big crowds because any sudden movement could be enough to trigger him. He avoided leaving his small apartment as much as possible, mostly only doing it to buy some food with the few coins he had. He entertained himself by looking out his window, or reading the newspaper which was conveniently left at the doorstep of the building. He wrote down all the important memories. He was getting better. Some days he remembered, but sometimes he went weeks without remembering a single thing, instead relying on reading and rereading from his notebook so at least he wouldn’t forget what he had already remembered. He made sure to keep an eye out on Steve, always skimming through the newspaper half expecting some new tragedy involving his old friend and half relieved when he didn’t find anything on him.

So that’s how Bucky had lived his life before everything had come back barging in on him. His brief spell of freedom – if it could be called that – had been over. Then suddenly he had the government behind him, and people trying to kill him, and Steve… and Steve had done everything in his hands to keep Bucky safe. And wasn’t that a surprising turn of events?

Before the war, it was always Bucky who would find him in some alley beaten up because he couldn’t control himself whenever he saw someone doing something wrong. It was Bucky who spent nights awake, making sure that Steve wouldn’t finally die on him because he was just _so sick_. It was Bucky who worried that Steve would get knocked over whenever there was a strong wind because he was just so fragile and delicate.

And now the tables turned and Steve was strong and determined and still _so fucking stubborn_. Even after so many decades had passed, and after so many things had changed, deep down he was still the same boy from Brooklyn. But Bucky… Bucky was beyond broken. He wasn’t the strong guy he had once been. The guy who laughed and smiled easily, the guy who got along so nicely with most people, the guy who was just so at ease with everything. And he would never be that person again. Now there were just fragments of who he used to be mixed with… whoever he was now.

Steve had almost begged Bucky to not go ahead with the whole cryogenic sleep idea. Bucky thought the blond was being unreasonable, possibly selfish, in asking him that. Bucky had been triggered with ten words and he had turned into the Asset. He didn’t trust himself to be around others knowing full well that it could happen again. He wasn’t doing it because he was selfish, or as a way of escaping his problems. He wanted to do it for the sake of others, especially Steve.

But they had come down to an agreement. Bucky wouldn’t go into cryo just yet. He would spend some time trying to adapt to this new life, one with somewhat more freedom than before. But the moment he felt like he was a threat or that something could throw him back into his Asset state then he would be frozen and Steve was not to stop him. Steve had reluctantly agreed – it was better than nothing.

Bucky still didn’t go out much. Sometimes he would, whenever Steve asked for company, and they would go to the food markets or simply go for a walk around the city. Mostly, he just stayed at home. The apartment felt enormous compared to his previous living conditions and, even after weeks of settling in, he still discovered new things. Like the rotating wall in the office that led to a small library. He didn’t know things like that actually existed outside movies.

He liked it there, though. He still had his sleepless nights but at least the dark circles around his eyes were getting better. He didn’t feel as tired anymore but he was still incredibly alert and worried all the time. He wasn’t used to any sort of peace so he felt like anything that felt too good would come to an end before he had the chance to blink.

 

* * *

 

He was sprawled on the sofa watching some animal documentary when he felt Steve’s presence in the room. His body tensed, almost immediately. It was an automatic reaction and, whereas he knew that Steve wasn’t a threat, not in the slightest, Bucky couldn’t help the reaction his body had.

“Mind if I join you?”

Bucky frowned and looked up at Steve. The blond held his gaze but Bucky could sense something more in his eyes. He didn’t think much of it.

“You live here as well, Steve. You don’t need to ask.” His eyes were back on the television, watching as the image zoomed in on a shark. Bucky liked sharks.

He felt Steve sitting on the other end of the couch, his thigh touching the soles of Bucky’s feet.

“I didn’t know you liked animal documentaries so much,” Steve commented, brows furrowed in concentration as he watched.

Bucky shrugged. “S’interesting.” His response was a simply hum.

Steve propped his feet on the coffee table, getting comfortable on the couch. They stayed like that, a comfortable silence around them, as they both watched the documentary. After a while, Bucky stretched, grimacing as he heard some of his bones cracking. He shifted a little, unconsciously propping his socked feet on Steve’s lap. He didn’t notice until he felt Steve’s hands tentatively resting on them. Bucky tensed for a second but then let his body relax as Steve drew circles on his ankle.

If he had looked to his side, he would have seen the blond’s soft smile.

Bucky wasn’t used to being touched anymore. He wasn’t used to human contact; he barely talked to anyone, let alone _touch_ or be touched. The closest thing he’d had to that during the past decades was the torture he suffered, when hands gripped him to keep him steady, when hands punched and hit him as he tried to fight his restraints. Apart from that? Nothing.

No gentle touches, or caresses, or reassuring grips. So whenever Steve’s hand settled on his shoulder, whenever Steve gave him a small pat on the back, whenever Steve touched him at all, Bucky couldn’t help the small flinch, leading Steve to cease contact almost immediately. The feeling was all too alien for him. He wished it _wasn’t_. He wished he could be _normal_ again. He only hoped that Steve understood. At least to some extent. Because Bucky knew that Steve was the last person on this shitty world that would ever hurt him.

After everything that Bucky had gone through, he couldn’t let himself be vulnerable to anyone.

But when he felt Steve’s tentative touch just then, hesitantly squeezing his ankle, Bucky forced his mind to quiet down and to at least _try_ and relax for once.

 

* * *

 

The nightmares were still present.

On the few occasions when his mind allowed him to fall asleep, he often woke up in a cold sweat, desperately trying to slip away from prying hands that were not there. He never managed to fall asleep after that. On nights like those he’d sit by the window and gaze upon the streets of Wakanda.

Tonight was one of those nights. He squeezed his pillow as he saw flashes of faceless people ready to give him more electric shocks. Bucky could already feel the pain on his skin, like millions of needles digging on it. He faintly felt a hand on his arm, shaking him, as his name was softly whispered. He let out a loud scream as he jerked awake and immediately sat up.

“Buck…”

Bucky looked to his right, wide and confused eyes landing on Steve. _Steve_. Why was he there? He wasn’t supposed be there. Steve was supposed to be safe from Hydra.

“Bucky. It was a dream.” He felt a warm hand on his arm. “You’re okay. You’re okay, I promise.”

“Steve?” His voice was just below a whisper.

Steve nodded, sitting on the bed next to Bucky. “It’s me, bud.”

And Bucky nodded, his gaze dropping down to his bed. He spent a moment taking in his surroundings, a moment to remember that he wasn’t in danger. At least he hoped he wasn’t. At least he had Steve by his side.

“Did I wake you?” He looked hesitantly at Steve. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep. I was going to the kitchen when I heard you.”

“You couldn’t sleep?”

Steve smiled sadly. “No. I get like that sometimes.” He shrugged. “I get by, though.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” Bucky said more to himself than Steve.

“You want to try and sleep some more? You look like you need it.”

“Can’t. I never can when I get nightmares.”

“I can stay here a bit if you want.” Steve gave his hand a squeeze. “Come on, sleep. Captain’s orders.”

Bucky smiled faintly but laid back down as his exhaustion got the best of him. He knew sleep wouldn’t come easy but the least he could do was pretend, if only to put Steve more at ease. He could see the worry in those blue eyes of his, and Bucky didn’t want to be more of a burden to Steve.

He closed his eyes and when he tried to let go of Steve’s hand he felt the blond’s grip tightening. He was too tired to do anything about it, and too tired to feel overwhelmed by it.

And for the first time, he was lulled back to sleep as Steve’s thumb stroked his knuckles.

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky woke up feeling more rested than he had felt in a long, long time. He got out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, not too surprised to find Steve already there. He seemed to wake up ridiculously early to go on his runs.

The blond gave him a soft smile. “Coffee?”

Bucky grunted his approval, accepting a mug and feeling like he was in heaven when took his first sip. He sat down on a stool across from Steve and gave him a small smile.

“Thanks for last night.”

Steve shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” He tilted his head, looking warmly at Bucky. “Looks like you managed to sleep after all.”

“Guess helping me fall asleep is just another of your talents,” he joked.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Makes it sounds like I’m boring enough to make you fall asleep.”

“Well, technically, you _are_ an old man.” Steve feigned a scandalised look which pulled a snort from Bucky. “Don’t give me that look. You do crosswords. Crosswords. Who does that?”

“A lot of people. It stimulates the brain.”

“Right.” Bucky got up, refilling his mug with more coffee. “So what are we doing today?”

He noticed the flash of surprise across Steve’s face but didn’t say anything, averting his eyes and gazing out the window. It was the first time that Bucky had suggested that they do something together. He figured that after four months, he was slowly making progress. Baby steps, right?

“What do you want to do?” Steve looked at him expectantly. “I’m up for anything.”

That was another thing that Bucky wasn’t quite used to. _Wanting_ things and having the choice to make them happen. He had been deprived of it for so long that it felt strange when someone reminded him of it. He had gotten used to supressing his urges, had been led to believe that he wasn’t worthy of wanting or needing anything. The idea had been implanted in his brain for so long that part of him still believed that.

“I don’t want to go out,” he said softly. “Not today, at least. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Steve’s eyes were soft and understanding. “We can stay in. Got plenty we can do here.”

“No crosswords puzzles, though.”

“No crosswords. Noted.”

Bucky led Steve to the small library hidden in the office. Steve had spent little to no time there, which was a contrast to Bucky. It was like his safe haven, where he spent a big amount of his time getting lost in both fictional and historical books.

“There are some books on the history of art,” Bucky said as he sat on his favourite armchair with his own book. “Thought you might like those.”

Steve smiled to himself, examining the bookshelves, tilting his head to the side as he read the different titles, his fingers lightly touching the covers. He picked one up and sat across from Bucky, making himself comfortable. The brunet looked up from his book and looked briefly at Steve, smiling at the way he concentrated while reading. Since they were young, Steve’s eyebrows furrowed whenever he was deep in concentration – whether he was drawing, reading, when he took care of Bucky’s bruises whenever he saved the blond from a fight. It was a habit that Bucky had grown quite fond of.

“I can feel you looking at me,” Steve said, not taking his eyes off the book. “Got something on my face?”

“Nope. Just your usual old man expression. Nothing new there.”

Steve chuckled. “Hurting my feelings here, Buck. Not very nice.”

Bucky shook his head and averted his gaze from Steve, grinning to himself.

Maybe it was finally time to let Steve in. Maybe it was time for Bucky to try and push his demons aside and open up to his best friend. Of course it wouldn’t be easy and it wouldn’t happen in the blink of an eye, but he believed – _hoped_ – that with time they’d be able to recover at least _some_ of what they used to be and make up for lost time.

 

* * *

 

Bucky helped Steve make lunch. It reminded him of when they were just two boys in their tiny Brooklyn apartment. When Bucky would get home after a long day of work to find Steve in the kitchen concentrated on chopping vegetables. He would sneak in, quietly, and wrap his arms around his best friend’s small frame, pressing a loud obnoxious kiss to his cheek. More often than not, he’d cause Steve to jump and receive a punch on his shoulder because _you fucking scared me, you asshole._ He’d laugh it off and promise that he wouldn’t do it again (he would) and he’d help Steve cook dinner even when the blond told him to just _go rest, you’ve had a long day_. But the day didn’t feel as tiring when he was laughing with Steve.

“Here, taste this.” Steve was holding a wooden spoon with some orange looking sauce to his face and Bucky eyed it suspiciously. Steve rolled his eyes. “Come on, I promise it’s good.” And, really, Steve had always been a good cook, so Bucky didn’t doubt that at all.

He leaned forward and closed his mouth around the spoon, eyebrows shooting up at the spicy taste on his tongue. “Curry?” He asked. Steve nodded. “I like it. When did you learn to make it?”

Steve shrugged, and stirred the pot. “Had a lot of time to learn new things after I was… _defrosted_.”

“Did you, really?” Bucky asked as he sat on the kitchen counter. “So what else did you learn? Any wonderful new skills I should know of?”

Steve chuckled. “Not really. I learned to play the guitar. Started playing tennis with Sam. It’s harder than it looks, but it’s fun.” He shrugged. “I can also make amazing cupcakes, by the way. Just wait until you try them, you won’t want anything else.”

“You’re making me hungry,” Bucky groaned. “Stop talking.”

“Dinner’s almost ready. Hold on for a few more minutes, will you?”

“Fine.” Bucky threw a tablecloth at Steve. “Ass.”

Moments later they were comfortable on the couch, watching some TV show that Bucky had quickly chosen, with their plates balanced on their knees.

“Steve,” Bucky said in between mouthfuls, “this is so good.”

“Glad you like it, Buck.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, though,” he was quick to add. “I survived on protein bars, water and cheap coffee for two years. Good thing that even cheap coffee tastes nice in Europe, as opposed to back home.” He wrinkled his nose.

He missed the way Steve’s face slightly dropped at the mention of Bucky’s poor nutrition. “Hey,” the blond said softly. “That’s over now, okay? There’s no shortage of food here.”

Bucky nodded. “You offering to be my own personal cook, Steve?”

“If that’s what you want…” Steve made a show of feigning boredom. “I guess I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

Bucky poked Steve’s thigh with his foot, letting out a small chuckle.

“Hey, Steve? Do you think we could…” A small pause. “Can we go for a walk later?”

“Yeah.” Steve smiled at him. “Of course we can.”

 

* * *

 

They lived in a quieter part of Wakanda. There weren’t as many people in the streets, and it was generally quieter and more peaceful which was exactly what they needed. They managed to keep a low profile but were extremely aware of their surroundings because, even though it wouldn’t be easy to find them there, nothing could guarantee them that it wouldn’t happen.

They strolled around the city for a while, enjoying the sun and light breeze, before Bucky stopped walking. It took Steve a second to notice that Bucky wasn’t following him and he turned around, furrowing his eyebrows when he noticed Bucky’s thoughtful look.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “Just… Do you still draw?”

Steve seemed surprised by the question but was quick to follow. “Not as much as I used to. Why do you ask?”

Then Bucky looked to his right, nodding towards an art supply store. “I mean, we might be here for a while. Would be a nice distraction, don’t you think?” He paused briefly before continuing. “If you want to, of course.”

Steve looked towards the display window before nodding slowly. “Come on, then. Help me out.”

Later that night Bucky wouldn’t notice as Steve sat across from him and started drawing his features.

 

* * *

 

Bucky had good and bad days.

There was a time, after he’d just freed himself from Hydra where every day was a bad day. The nightmares, the constant fear of being found and going back, the paranoia, the fear of being triggered and spilling more innocent blood. With time, though, things started looking less grim. He’d have a good day once in a while and, in the span of the last two years, he seemed to be able to manage between the two just well enough.

Bad days consisted of his mind replaying everything that he’d gone through while he was the Asset – everything that he could remember, at least. His mood would drop so suddenly that he felt like he was falling into infinite darkness. He felt like he was choking, like he couldn’t breathe and, every once in a while, it ended in a panic attack. He’d curl up on his side, struggling to breathe as tears ran down his face, eyes shutting tight as he begged a god he didn’t believe in anymore to just _make it all stop_.

He’d gotten better at dealing with the panic attacks, he managed to keep them at bay most times so that they happened a lot less now than at the beginning. Harder to deal with were the dark moods he slipped into sometimes. It made him want to curl into a ball, fall asleep and wake up when everything was over. He wished, more than anything, that he could go back in time and be the boy he used to be in Brooklyn in the 1930s.

Sometimes he wished that he had died when he fell from that train.

He had called it an early night and retreated to his bedroom, leaving Steve in the living room. He was lying on his bed when he heard footsteps outside coming to a halt near his door. He could faintly see Steve’s shadow coming in from where he had left his door ajar. Bucky didn’t move, instead keeping his breathing steady so Steve would think he was asleep. He knew that Steve was aware of Bucky’s condition, he knew that Steve worried, but Bucky would prefer if Steve didn’t. He’d rather suffer in silence than have Steve be concerned about him. So he pretended as much as he could, like the coward he was.

He turned on his back when Steve closed the door and retreated to his own room. Bucky stared at the ceiling and wished things were different. He wished he could be someone else, wished that he could be happy, wished that Steve was happy.

Bucky hated himself.

Bucky was weak and miserable but he could pretend, right? He could pretend that he was happy and strong and that, maybe, he had a will to live. Fake it ‘till you make it, right? Maybe that’s just what he needed to do. For Steve.

And, really, was there ever a time when the things he did _weren’t_ for Steve? Ever since he had found that tiny, blond haired boy with the scraped knees in that playground, he promised himself that he would keep him safe from the bullies and from the rest of the world; ever since that moment everything he did came down to Steve.

He was always there to break up a fight, and he was always ready to be the target as long as Steve was safe and protected. He was always there to angrily take care of Steve’s wounds whilst he went on a rant about how _goddamn stubborn and careless_ he was. He was there when Sarah Rogers passed away, and he was there to comfort Steve as the blond fell into his arms after the funeral, furiously trying to stop his tears from flowing. He was there when Steve was sick and Bucky tried to do everything he could to make sure Steve would just make it through the night. He turned down beautiful girls because he would rather spend time with his best friend than them.

Steve.

Always for Steve.

And now it felt like the roles had reversed but Bucky refused to be looked after. Refused to be a burden even though he had never seen Steve as one. And even if Steve wanted to look after Bucky now, Bucky still felt like it was his duty to look after Steve, because he was a lot more important than Bucky.

He rolled on his side and waited for sleep to come.

It didn’t.

 

* * *

 

If Steve noticed the dark circles around Bucky’s eyes the next morning he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just pushed a plate with scrambled eggs and toast along with a mug of coffee in front of Bucky when he sat at the kitchen table. They ate in silence for a while. He felt like Steve had questions he wanted to ask but Steve also knew how to respect Bucky’s boundaries and his comfort zone. And Bucky was grateful for that. If he wanted to talk then he would.

“Remember the winter of 1941?” Bucky asked, voice soft as he remembered the distant memory. “It was snowing and you wanted to go out so bad but I was scared that you’d freeze to death.”

Steve looked up and chuckled. “You refused to let me go but I was too determined to feel the snow on my skin. You made me wear fifty layers of clothing.”

“Couldn’t risk your dumb ass getting sick again. You almost looked like a ball of wool.”

“I couldn’t even build a snow man like that.”

“At least you were protected.” Bucky rolled his eyes fondly. “We had fun, though, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, Buck. We did.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “Maybe one day we’ll be back in Brooklyn during the winter.” And he looked so hopeful that Bucky couldn’t help but wish that _one day_ would come sooner rather than later.

“Have you been there at all? Ever since– you know…”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “Once or twice. Whenever I felt homesick. I don’t know if it made things better or worse. It brought me back so many memories, memories of things I could never have again.” He shook his head, dropping his gaze back to the kitchen table. “It’s like sometimes I’m still stuck in the past.”

“That makes two of us, pal. Would be great to move on, wouldn’t it?”

“If only things were that easy,” he said bitterly.

“One day at a time, Steve.” He got up, taking his plate and setting it on the sink. His eyes dropped to the newspaper and he picked it up.

He sat next to Steve and opened the last page of the newspaper. “Come on,” he said, bumping his shoulder against Steve’s. “Help me out with this crossword.” Steve flashed him a smile and for a brief moment everything seemed okay with the world.

_15 minutes later_

“This is bullshit.” Bucky got up with a frown. “These definitions are too vague, they make no sense. I hate this.” He glared at the newspaper and then at Steve as if it was his fault.

“It takes practise, Buck. Really, it’s quite fun once you get the hang of it.”

Bucky shook his head. “Nope. We’re doing something else.” He thought for a moment. “Why don’t you finally make me those cupcakes you were bragging about? I’ll help.”

“By help do you mean eating the mixture before I put them in the oven?”

“No,” he said, furrowing his eyebrow. “It means licking the spoon clean once you’re done.”

Steve snorted. “Figures.” He ignored the way Bucky glared at him. “Alright, make yourself useful and grab some eggs.”

“I’m always useful,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough so that Steve would hear.

He sat on the kitchen counter as he watched Steve working. Bucky figured that he would be more helpful if he didn’t actually _help_ , because desserts just weren’t his forte, never had been. And plus, cooking just didn’t come to him as easily as it once had, it’s not like he had needed to cook in the past few decades, so the little he knew had sort of faded from his memory.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Bucky was pulled out from his thoughts. “Hm?”

Steve didn’t look at him when he replied. “Just looking at me.”

“Oh,” Bucky whispered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright.” Steve smiled at him. “I don’t mind. It actually reminds me of when we were younger. You did that a lot. You kinda zoned out sometimes.”

“I did?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky assumed that was one of the few things he didn’t remember well. But he wouldn’t be too surprised it if was actually true. Bucky remembered a lot more now than he did months ago, especially since Steve was around. And the majority of his memories included Steve, whether he was present or whether it was about Bucky worrying about Steve. It seemed like all his memories led to the blond somehow.

Bucky was aware of how important Steve had been in his life – still was. But he wondered _why_ he was such a prominent memory. Maybe it was because he was around Steve all the time now so his mind just easily found the connection between the two. Or maybe there was another reason why Steve seemed to be such a recurring theme in his memory recovery phase. He just couldn’t pinpoint why.

He rested his head against the wall as he looked at Steve. “It’s always you.”

“What’s that, Buck?”

He shook his head and took a deep breath because he wasn’t used to talking about his feelings anymore. “The memories… They’re all about you. Everything I remember, Steve, is linked to you.”

Steve didn’t respond immediately, instead placing the tray of cupcake mixture in the oven. He grabbed a stool and sat in front of Bucky, eyes deep in thought.

“I mean… We have known each other since we were kids, we’ve spent most of our lives together, you know? That must be why.”

“Do you think that’s all there is to it?”

Bucky didn’t miss the flash of sadness in Steve’s eyes, but it was gone before he could think more of it. The blond’s smile looked almost forced when he said, “Yeah, pal. Most likely.”

Bucky nodded, not taking his eyes off of Steve. “Okay.”

He felt like there was something Steve wasn’t telling him, something important. But he reckoned that if Steve was hiding something from him it would be to protect him – from what? He didn’t know. But Bucky was not going to rest until he _remembered,_ until he _knew_ what it was. No matter how long it took him, no matter how long it took to pull the pieces of the puzzle together. He knew that reconstructing his memory was a slow and long process, but he was getting a lot better.

He hopped off the counter and made his way to the living room. “Don’t take too long with those cupcakes,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m getting hungry.”

He settled on the windowsill overlooking the city, letting his mind wander.

The thing with _remembering_ was that it wasn’t something he could just _choose_ to do. If it was like that then he would have remembered everything at once. The thing was, sometimes a memory would come rushing out of nowhere. It felt like it hit him like a brick and suddenly he’d be staring at the floor as he remembered flashes of things that used to be. Like the way he’d embarrass his sister in front of her school friends, or the way his mother used to take care of him whenever he got sick, or the way he’d pull Steve into a hug whenever he got the chance.

Most times they were just snippets of memories, lasting no longer than one or two seconds, but then they’d just string one after another and he’d be able to make the connection between them. Sometimes, when he was luckier, he’d remember full memories like the time he’d woken up after a nap to find Steve sitting opposite him with his sketchbook open as his eyes focused on Bucky.

_“What are you doing?” He’d asked sleepily, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked at the way Steve’s hand moved against the paper, tracing delicate lines. He always did it with so much passion, and Bucky wished that Steve could be able to do art for a living. Something that came so effortlessly to him, and something that he loved doing. But times were tough and there weren’t many people looking to buy art._

_“Drawing you,” Steve said, not taking his eyes of the paper. Bucky noticed the way the blond bit his lip and tilted his head in concentration, trying to get the lines just right. His fringe had fallen, reaching just above his eyes and Bucky found himself thinking just how beautiful Steve looked in that moment. If Bucky had any talent at all then he should have been the one drawing his best friend._

_“Why?” He asked, ignoring the fact that his voice wavered a little. He shifted on his side, propping his head against the couch rest so he could have a better look at Steve._

_“Got bored of drawing other stuff,” he said simply. “You looked peaceful. Guess I wanted to capture the moment.” He looked down at Bucky. “Is that okay?”_

_Bucky nodded. “’Course it is. I’m flattered, Stevie. I’ll happily be your muse.” He winked._

_Steve snorted. “Don’t think too highly of yourself. This won’t become a thing.”_

Except it had.

After that, Bucky had found himself under Steve’s gaze more often than not, mostly when they were bored out of their minds and Steve wanted a distraction. He’d always hear the blond tell him to _just stay still, will you?_ and he rolled his eyes because he hated staying in the same position for too long. But if that was what Steve wanted then Bucky would gladly do it without complaining (much).

Bucky looked to his side when Steve walked towards him, handing him a blue cupcake with a cherry on top. “It’s still warm.”

“Just how I like it.”

They ate half the batch Steve had baked and Bucky had to admit that they were pretty good. He definitely would be nagging Steve to make more of those. He wasn’t even that big a fan of sweets but, well, if Steve was making them then who was he to waste perfectly good baking?

“You used to draw me.”

Steve looked up at Bucky. He seemed at a loss for words, either because he couldn’t believe Bucky had remembered that or because he was surprised that he’d brought it up.

“I did.”

Bucky took a moment, trying to choose his words. “You ever find someone else to draw?”

Steve was quick to shake his head. “No. I didn’t have any interest in that after the war. It’s not like I had time to do it, either.”

“You were good at it,” Bucky said, remembering some of Steve’s drawings. “You would have made a fine artist.”

Steve smiled. “Maybe in another life. I guess other things just got in the way.”

“All your drawings… Did you ever recover them?”

“One or two sketchbooks. Shield managed to get their hands on some of my belongings from back in the day. Most of them are at the museum but they gave me some that they thought to be more personal.”

“I’m glad, pal.” He paused for a moment, deep in thought. “They were something else.”

He didn’t miss Steve’s slight blush. “I’ll let you have a look at them one of these days.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

 

* * *

 

Most days Bucky liked to hang out with Steve. He was getting into the habit of being in his company the majority of the time, as they built back their friendship, even if it was wasn’t exactly like it used to be. Bucky trusted Steve more and more each day, he didn’t feel tense around the blond as often as he did months ago, and he didn’t mind when they accidentally brushed their hands together, or when he felt Steve’s hand on his shoulder.

But sometimes Bucky liked being alone. He liked staying in his bedroom, sitting by the window and watching the sun rise and set. He liked the silence that came with it, liked the feeling of _peace_. Part of him felt bad for having these moments because he didn’t want Steve to think he was avoiding him. But he only hoped that the blond would understand that Bucky needed his space sometimes. Hanging out with Steve was great, it kept Bucky’s mind occupied, but sometimes Bucky felt overwhelmed by everything. That’s when he kept to himself.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was an idiot.

He spent so much time thinking about himself that sometimes he forgot that he wasn’t the only one who was dealing with his past. He wasn’t the only one with problems. And that seemed to hit him like a brick when he woke up in the middle of the night to drink water and he saw Steve curled up on the couch, the top of his head visible due to the light coming in from the outside streetlamps.

He assumed that Steve had fallen asleep there until he saw that he was visibly shaking. Frowning, Bucky walked towards him, heart dropping when he noticed that Steve was choking back a sob. Steve’s eyes flew open when Bucky crouched down next to him, hand tentatively setting on his arm.

“Steve,” he said, barely above a whisper. His heart was hammering against his chest, half because he was scared that Steve would run to his bedroom, half because he was worried about what had gotten Steve in that state. “Hey, pal, what’s wrong?”

Steve shook his head, avoiding Bucky’s gaze, and trying to compose his breathing. “Nothing. It’s all good, Buck.” His voice cracked and even if it hadn’t, Bucky knew better than that. Steve Rogers could try and fool anyone but the one person it wouldn’t work on was Bucky.

“Bullshit,” he said. “ _Nothing_ would not get you into that state. Talk to me?”

“Just a nightmare, that’s all. Nothing new there.” And Bucky should have known that already. He should have known that he wasn’t the only one who woke up in the middle of the night after a fucked up dream that thinned the lines between reality and memories. “They got you again. And then they killed you, right in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything. I _couldn’t save you._ I failed you again, Buck.”

“It was a dream, Steve,” Bucky’s voice was strained. “Wasn’t real. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’m so fucking scared all the time,” Steve said, voice bordering in between sad and angry. “I can’t lose you again. I couldn’t live with that, not again. Not after everything that happened.”

“Hey.” Bucky’s hand found Steve’s and gave it a squeeze, his grip tight. “That’s not happening, Steve. I promise.” They both knew that they couldn’t hold on to promises, not when there were still people waiting to get their hands on Bucky and, by extension, Steve. It felt almost like an empty promise and Bucky knew it. Steve knew it. “We’re going to be fine, you and I. We’ve always managed to, haven’t we? Hell, we should be dead by now but we’re here. That says something about us, doesn’t it?”

Steve nodded, sitting up, settling his legs by Bucky’s sides. “You got a point there. They’d have to kill me to get to you first, Buck.”

“God, sometimes it’s like you haven’t changed a bit,” he said fondly. “Stubborn as always.” He squeezed Steve’s arm, and felt the blond leaning closer. Steve rested his head on Bucky’s shoulder, taking in a deep breath. Bucky’s arm naturally found its way around Steve’s waist, pulling him into a hug. Steve tightened his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and if Bucky felt tears falling on his neck then he didn’t mention it. “This is the first hug I’ve had in decades.” He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of Steve’s shampoo. Of _Steve_. His best friend who he used to feel the need to hold at all times when they were younger. He couldn’t believe that it took him this long to have him in his arms again. And it felt so right, like finally being home.

Steve sighed into the embrace, unconsciously running his fingers on the back of Bucky’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Stevie,” he said softly. “Nothing you have to apologise for, okay? Not your fault.” He pulled back, immediately feeling cold now that Steve wasn’t close to him. “You should go get some rest now. You look tired, pal.” He moved to stand and pulled Steve with him, leading him to Steve’s bedroom.

“Hug me again?” Steve asked. And how could Bucky say no to that? He wrapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders, feeling as the blond held him by the waist and pulled him close. They stayed like that for a while until Steve pressed a barely there kiss to Bucky’s shoulder and bid him goodnight.

Bucky watched from the doorway as Steve got into bed and under the covers, his body looking more relaxed than it had moments ago.

 

* * *

 

Bucky went out without Steve for the first time since they were in Wakanda. He walked around the streets as the sun rose and as civilians started to fill the sidewalks and cars filled the roads.

It was not as bad as he thought it would be. He was still wary of his surroundings and kept his head down so that no one would look at his face. But it was still progress, nonetheless.

He still felt a sort of panic whenever someone smiled at him. His mind immediately jumped into defensive mode as his hand twitched by his side. More often than not he would look at the person until they frowned and looked away, a small voice in his head telling him that _they’re just being friendly_. Truth be told, the old Bucky Barnes would offer them a smile in return, in that charming way he had going on. If it was a pretty girl she’d even receive a wink. But he wasn’t that guy anymore and he didn’t smile for anyone. He hadn’t smiled for anyone in decades. Except Steve.

He’d smiled at Steve in the jet and he found himself smiling at Steve often in the past few weeks, very rarely letting out a small chuckle whenever Steve _attempted_ to make a joke or whenever they talked about a particular memory. It still surprised him when that happened. It was like looking at himself in the third person but it made Steve smile and if Steve was happy then Bucky was happy, even if he felt hollow inside.

Bucky had made peace with the fact that he was never going to be the person he had once been. But Bucky wanted more than anything to move on with his life and be in a place where there would be a slight possibility that he’d be happy. He often found himself thinking that maybe he didn’t deserve happiness, not after everything he had done. Perhaps he was just destined to be miserable for the rest of his days.

His walk lasted less than an hour and soon he was walking past the threshold of their apartment. Immediately, his eyes landed on Steve, standing by the window and looking at Bucky like he’d seen a ghost. Bucky looked back, wondering if anything had happened while he was gone.

“Steve?”

The blond let out a breath he seemed to be holding, relaxing his shoulders.

“I woke up and you were gone.” _Oh_. “I thought…” He looked away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought you’d left. For good.”

“I went for a walk. I didn’t mean to worry you, I’m sorry.” His voice was quiet, almost like the feeling of guilt was painting it.

Steve quickly shook his head. “Nothing to apologise for. I’m just thinking way too much.” He offered Bucky a smile. “How was your walk?”

“Alright.” Bucky shrugged. “Think I’d rather stay home for the rest of the day, though.”

“No pressure, Buck. Take your time, I know it takes a while to adjust. I’ve been there, too.”

Bucky briefly wondered if Steve also thought that his presence in this earth was worthless.

 

* * *

 

Steve put on another animal documentary and Bucky hummed his approval. They settled on the couch, watching in silence. It wasn’t long until Bucky felt tiredness washing over him and unconsciously shifted closer to Steve, letting his head rest on the blond’s shoulder. He briefly wondered if he was overstepping any boundaries until he felt Steve’s arm wrapping around his shoulders, giving him a short squeeze. Bucky sighed, pressing himself closer to Steve, rubbing his cheek against the blond’s sweater.

They stayed like that until the documentary came to an end. They stayed like that for an unknown amount of time, in silence, breathing in each other. Bucky was almost lulled to sleep as he felt Steve’s fingers rubbing circles on his arm but he forced himself to stay awake. He had been deprived of touch for too long, deprived of a friendly shoulder where he could sink in to and not worry about the rest of the world. He worried that if he fell asleep he’d wake up only to find out that it had all been a fragment of his memory. Irony playing a cruel game on him.

He tilted his head, face resting on the crook of Steve’s neck as his hand tightened on the hem of Steve’s shirt. He must have let out a muffled a noise because he felt Steve’s hand resting on his, and words he could not understand being whispered against his hair. Then Bucky himself said something.

“Miss you.”

Steve pulled back a little, waiting for Bucky to look at him. When he did, he found baby blue eyes looking back. “I’m right here, Buck.”

“I miss how things used to be.” He watched as Steve’s expression dropped, and he was quick to add, “When we were young. It was the two of us against the world, and we struggled, didn’t we? But, give or take, we were happy.”

“Looks like it’s still the two of us against the world.”

Bucky smiled bitterly. “Sweet irony.” He looked at Steve. “Are you happy?”

Steve took a deep breath, seemingly lost in thought. “Guys like us, Buck– I don’t think we’re ever really happy again. We just learn to live with what we have.”

“Ain’t that the truth?”

“It wasn’t easy waking up to find that everyone you ever cared about was either dead or dying. It made me wonder why I was still here looking like a normal 26 year old. I should be dead, too. But here I am.” He sighed. “I felt so disorientated for months – still am, really. But I had to adapt; nothing else I could have done.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re alive.” Bucky realised then that, if it weren’t for Steve, he wouldn’t have made it this far either. Because without Steve around there was nothing worth living for.

He could sense the sadness in Steve’s eyes. He could sense the battle that was raging behind them, and all the unspoken thoughts rushing through his mind. “I wish they’d taken me instead of you.”

Bucky felt like someone was pouring salt in an open wound. “Don’t–”

“I do,” Steve cut him off. “I would willingly have gone through everything they did to you a hundred times over if it meant that you were safe. It should have been me, not you. Never you, Bucky.”

Bucky clenched his fist, rage soaring through him. “Steve, stop!” He said, voice louder than in all the months he had spent with Steve. “I would have let them kill me if that meant that you were safe. I’ll endure any kind of torture as long as you’re okay.”

He could see Steve fighting back his tears, his jaw clenching so hard that Bucky was worried he’d hurt himself. Steve’s hands found his and he squeezed it tightly.

Sometimes actions spoke louder than words.

“You deserved better, Buck,” he whispered. “So much better. I should have jumped after you. I should have landed that plane safely and searched for you. We could’ve–” He stopped himself before finishing the sentence. Steve pulled Bucky closer and buried his face in the crook of his neck. And then Bucky could feel the hot tears on his neck.

“Stevie,” he breathed, tightening his hold around Steve. “We’re both here, now, aren’t we? It’s almost like I was destined to find you in every life. Maybe my purpose in life is to stop you from doing something stupid, how about that?” He might as well try and lighten the mood.

Steve breathed harshly and for a second Bucky remembered when Steve had trouble breathing due to his asthma. “Missed you, too.” Steve pulled back to look at him and Bucky decided that it was his mission to never let Steve cry again. Such a beautiful face didn’t deserve to be covered in so much sadness. “But you’re not leaving again, are you?” And Steve sounded almost scared, like that was something he thought about every day and worried that would eventually come true.

“No,” Bucky breathed, his thumb moving against Steve’s cheekbone. “’Til the end of the line, remember? You’re not getting rid of me so easily, punk.”

Steve smiled and, for a second, his eyes looked full of hope.

 

* * *

 

He found Steve hunched over the kitchen table a few days later, looking at his computer as he quickly typed something. Bucky knew that a lot of people said that Steve still hadn’t caught on with the times and was unable to use technology but from what Bucky had gathered they were all wrong. Steve had always been a quick learner, even if he was a few decades behind.

“Whatcha doing?” he asked, propping his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“Emailing Sam. We’ve been checking on each other.” He didn’t take his eyes off the screen as he replied.

“Is that safe? Couldn’t they track your emails?”

“Don’t worry. We’re using different emails and T’challa made sure that no one could trace them back to us. They’re also pretty much impossible to hack into so no one is going to be able to read them. We’re good.”

Bucky hummed, moving to get himself a mug of coffee. “And why not just call each other? I assume T’challa would have made that possible as well.”

Steve shrugged. “Emails are more fun?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “You trust him?”

“I do,” Steve said confidently. “He was by my side when I was trying to find you. Willingly backed me up in a fight that wasn’t his to take.” He looked at Bucky. “I think you’d like him if you guys spent some time together.”

Bucky grimaced. “We didn’t really have a great start.”

Steve smiled, shaking his head. “You’ll have another chance, I hope. He’s been asking about you, too, you know? I think that, deep down, he knows you’re a good guy.”

“That’s kind of him.” _Even if he’s wrong_ , he stops himself from saying. Bucky was rather surprised that Sam actually seemed to care about _him_. But he figured that if Steve trusted him – and if Sam had helped Steve so much – then he was a good guy. Maybe one day they could be friends. “Anyone else you’ve been in contact with?”

“No. Sam’s been keeping an eye on the others, though. They seem to be doing okay.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if I ended up ruining their lives.”

“It’s my fau–”

“It’s not, Bucky.” He looked at Bucky, face more serious than Bucky had seen in a while. “It all started before I found you in your apartment.”

Bucky was too tired to argue and knew better than to try and start and argument with Steve when he looked so determined to make a point. “Okay.” He smiled at the blond. “You’re a good man, Steve. You’ll make things right, you always do.”

“It’s good to know that someone has so much faith in me.”

“I’m not the only one. There’s also Sam. And a lot of people who look up to Captain America.”

Steve shook his head. “Captain America is dead.” And he was right. Captain America had died the moment Steve had dropped his shield in favour of Bucky.

“It’s a good thing that my hero’s always been Steve Rogers, then.” Steve looked up, ready to make a sarcastic retort, but stopped at the last second because the look Bucky was giving him wasn’t one of mockery. If anything, he looked sincere, and Bucky watched as Steve swallowed, holding his gaze.

“I’m no hero, Buck.”

“I beg to differ. But whatever you say, bud.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I’m hungry, what’s there to eat?”

 

* * *

 

Bucky shuffled across the apartment, pacing back and forth. It wasn’t common of him to feel so fidgety, especially when he had been conditioned to stay still for hours on end. But that didn’t mean that he _liked_ doing it. He just had to. And this was one of the days where he just couldn’t seem to relax no matter what he tried to do.

He sat on the armchair across from Steve, propping his legs over the armrest and resting his head against the back of the chair. He felt Steve’s gaze on him but neither of them said anything. Steve seemed to be busy and Bucky didn’t want to bother him. Instead, he just closed his eyes, not drifting off to sleep but not completely awake either.

Bucky had ventured out on his own a couple more times. Each day he would spend a little more time outside, and each day he grew slightly more confident, although he knew that he’d never get rid of his paranoia, and that was fine. He’d rather be alert than let himself slip and be caught by anyone – good or bad guys. He always preferred hanging out with Steve, though. Even after months of living together, spending time apart from him felt unnatural but he assumed that was just his mind coping with the years they had spent apart. After all, when they were younger – especially when they lived together – they’d spend almost every waking hour together, unless they were working or if Bucky went out at night.

He didn’t want to crowd Steve, though. So sometimes he’d just go out on his own to let Steve have some space of his own. Bucky himself certainly needed it and he was sure that Steve was no different. Sometimes, Bucky would still stay in his bedroom for hours, even if nowadays it happened a lot less than in the beginning, but Steve never did it. He never showed any signs of weakness, apart from the night where Bucky had found him in the living room after his nightmare. And, really, it shouldn’t be all that surprising to Bucky because Steve had always been the tough one, too strong minded with a personality that now challenged his body. But sometimes Bucky wished that Steve would just _let go_ and stop keeping everything bottled up. He knew that Steve had a lot of emotional issues that he kept on repressing and that could end up being damaging to him. But Bucky would never press him on that; how Steve dealt with his emotions was up to him. Bucky just wished he could help.

He shifted on the chair and turned his head to look at the blond in question. He could tell that Steve was drawing. He had that familiar expression on his face, when it was all scrunched up in concentration as his artist fingers moved across the paper. Bucky wished that he himself could draw so that he could sketch Steve in moments like this.

Steve looked up and locked eyes with him. Bucky gave him a small smile. “What are you drawing, big guy?” Steve chuckled at the old nickname.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“There’s a reason I asked,” Bucky grunted. “You ever going to show me?”

“Maybe one day.” He smiled to himself and Bucky couldn’t help but huff at all the secrecy.

“Fine.”

He didn’t take his eyes off of Steve as the blond went back to work, not even when Steve kept sneaking glances at Bucky. He figured that maybe drawing was Steve’s own way of therapy. It took his mind off of things and allowed him to focus on doing something he had always been so passionate about. And if that was good enough for Steve then it was good enough for Bucky.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke up in a cold sweat yet again. It took him a while to remember where he was, like it always happened when he had nightmares. His eyes had a hard time focusing on his surroundings and his brain a harder time processing everything. He let out a long a sigh, closing his eyes and clutching the sheets so hard that his knuckles turned white. He focused on evening out his breath and when he felt calmer he sat up, back against the headboard.

He wondered if the nightmares would ever end and then laughed at himself for the ridiculous thought. He’d have to live the rest of his life dealing with fucked up dreams and functioning on two hours of sleep – if he was lucky enough.

He wondered what he’d ever done to deserve all the pain he'd had to endure. Was this payback for jumping in on Steve’s fights and defending him against so many bullies? Was it payback for all the girls he had charmed and managed to steal a kiss and a quick touch from? He always thought that he was a good guy but maybe he had been wrong and that’s why he had been punished and tortured for years. Maybe he deserved it.

Bucky got out of bed, feeling like he’d choke if he stayed there one more second. He meant to walk to the kitchen but somehow found himself outside Steve’s bedroom. He pressed his ear against the door, his fingers twitching on the handle. He couldn’t hear anything so he figured that Steve must be asleep. He didn’t know if it was a good idea to go in; didn’t know how Steve reacted if anyone entered his bedroom at night. Bucky would most likely freak out and get into defensive mode. He hoped he wouldn’t startle Steve. He didn’t even _know_ why he felt drawn to Steve’s bedroom but he opened the door and stepped inside, making no noise at all.

The only light in the room came from the mixture of streetlamps and moonlight. Bucky hesitated when he reached Steve’s side but then crouched, propping his arm on the bed and his cheek on his hand. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep for a moment. He could feel Steve shifting in his sleep and was hoping that he wouldn’t wake up when he felt Steve’s fingers close to his arm.

“Buck.”

Bucky opened his eyes, surprised to find Steve looking back at him. He flinched, immediately getting himself on his feet like he’d been burned. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I–”

“Buck, it’s okay,” Steve said, sitting up. “I’ve been awake this whole time.” He looked at Bucky, almost as if he was afraid of talking, and then he shifted to get Bucky more space. “You can sit, if you want to.”

Bucky hesitated once again, but eventually sat on the edge of the bed, averting his eyes from Steve even though he could feel his gaze.

“You couldn’t sleep?” He asked, voice just above a whisper, and if Steve’s hearing wasn’t so enhanced now he would have missed it.

“I have trouble sleeping,” he said. “I, uh, most nights I can’t sleep.”

Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed at that. He never would have guessed if Steve hadn’t told him. Sure, sometimes he looked tired and it would show on his face, but most of the time Steve was so chipper that he looked well rested. It was clear that he was a lot better at hiding his emotions than Bucky was.

“I didn’t know,” Bucky said. “You didn’t tell me.”

Steve shrugged. “I mean, there’s not much you can do about it, is there? Been like this since I woke after my deep, icy sleep,” he chuckled bitterly. “I got used to it. It’s fine.”

“You haven’t slept properly in four years?”

“I did spend almost seventy years asleep, so I might be balancing out.” He offered Bucky a tight smile.

Bucky shook his head. “I thought you were doing fine, Steve. I didn’t know it was so bad.”

“It’s all good, Buck. I had some therapy sessions which sort of helped. It’s all about adjusting, isn’t that right?”

“Wouldn’t know much about therapy,” he mumbled. “You have nightmares, too.”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Almost always the same recurring one. In a way, I’m glad that I can manage to go so long without sleep. I’d rather stay awake then be forced to remember.”

Bucky was curious but he didn’t want to step out of line and ask Steve about his nightmares. Instead, he settled with, “That makes two of us, then.”

They stayed in silence for a while before Steve lay down again. His voice was cautious when he said, “You’re in my bedroom.”

Bucky flinched like he had been stung. “Yeah. Sorry, I’ll get going–”

“No, no, no,” Steve was quick to say. “It’s okay. I’m just… curious.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know why he had felt the need to go into Steve’s bedroom so he shrugged. “Had another nightmare.”

He couldn’t quite see Steve’s eyes in the darkness but if he had to guess he’d say they were full of understanding.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” Steve asked tentatively. “If we’re both going to stay awake we might as well hang out.”

Bucky’s mind wandered to when they were kids and would have sleepovers at each other’s houses. They’d always sleep in the same bed because neither would allow the other to sleep on the floor. Later, they would grow up and share a small apartment with a small bed, and Steve would refuse to let Bucky sleep on the couch when they could perfectly well fit together if they lay just the right way. Bucky would always pull Steve close, afraid that he’d roll over and fall on the floor during the night. He couldn’t risk Steve getting hurt, especially since he bruised like a peach.

“What if I fall asleep and hurt you?” Bucky knew he could easily harm someone when he wasn’t in the right frame of mind. And even when he didn’t have nightmares, he woke up in particularly dark moods.

“I can defend myself, Buck. I’m not a scrawny kid anymore.”

Bucky shook his head. “You don’t understand,” he said, lips pressed in a tight line, “I can do a lot of damage.”

“Believe me, I know. I’ve had personal experience with it, remember?” Steve reached over and held Bucky’s hand, grip tightening when Bucky tried to pull away. “You’re not going to hurt me. You’ve had more than one chance and you didn’t hurt me. I trust you.”

“I don’t trust myself.”

Steve tugged his arm, pulling him closer. “Lie down. Please?”

Bucky was reluctant to do so. Part of him wanted to be next to Steve. At least that way he could distract himself from the demons that haunted his dreams. But he was also wary of hurting Steve and he’d rather spend the rest of the night staring at his ceiling than do any damage.

He could feel Steve’s eyes on him and he knew that the blond wouldn’t force him to do anything that he didn’t want to. But then again, what did Bucky really want?

He sighed and shuffled on the bed, lying on his back next to Steve. He felt Steve shifting the blankets so that they’d cover Bucky up to his waist.

“At least we got more space now,” Steve joked. “And if, for some reason, I end up falling then I won’t bruise.”

Suddenly, Bucky wished that the bed was a lot smaller.

Steve shifted, rolling on his side, his fingers sprawled close to Bucky’s arm. “Close your eyes, Buck. Try and get some rest.”

Bucky wanted to argue, wanted to say that if he fell asleep that it could be dangerous for both of them. But he felt too tired for that and his eyelids were starting to feel heavy with sleep. He turned on his side, facing Steve, and they locked eyes for a second. Steve gave him a reassuring smile and Bucky, moved his hand to rest atop Steve’s. He lifted his eyebrow, wordlessly asking if it was okay and, in response, Steve’s hand turned underneath his, and he laced their fingers together, giving it a soft squeeze.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke up with a heavy weight next to him. He opened his eyes slowly, adjusting to the sunlight, when he noticed the body next to his. It took him a minute to remember the previous night and then it all came back rushing to him. Somehow, during the night, he had moved so that he and Steve were sharing the same pillow, faces a lot closer than before, and his arm had snaked its way around Steve’s waist. Steve’s own hand was warm against Bucky’s back and Bucky couldn’t help but look at the peaceful expression on Steve’s face.  He looked so relaxed and so rested that, if Bucky didn’t know any better, he would never guess what Steve had gone through.

It was such a contrast to their Brooklyn days, when Steve would be so pained, even when he slept, because of all the medical conditions he had. It made Bucky feel calm because, at least now, he didn’t have the constant fear that he’d wake up and Steve wouldn’t be breathing next to him anymore.

He tried to move but felt Steve’s arm tightening around him, holding him in place. It suddenly made him recover yet another memory.

_Bucky forced his eyes to adjust to the sunlight. There were no curtains covering the window, which didn’t help when he wanted to sleep in. Whether he wanted it or not, he’d be up by six o’clock every day because it was impossible to sleep with all the light. Unless he was sporting a hangover, which only happened once or twice in his life. Money was too tight to waste on alcohol._

_On the other hand, the lack of curtains helped him rise early enough that he wouldn’t be late for work. He still had five minutes until he had to get out of bed but he figured he might as well get an early start. When he started to move, however, Steve’s arms tightened around him, holding him in place. Small and delicate as he was, he always seemed to gather force from an unknown source whenever he needed it._

_“Stevie, I need to go,” Bucky whispered against soft, blond hair. He felt Steve mumbling against his neck and he smiled. “What was that?”_

_“Stay,” Steve mumbled, more coherently. “Warm.” He nuzzled his face against Bucky’s shoulder, sighing when he felt Bucky run a hand on his back._

_“Three more minutes,” Bucky said, even though he wished it was a lot more than that. He liked the weight of Steve on top of him. It was reassuring and it just felt_ right _. He would do anything to spend the rest of the day with their limbs tangled together and warm in bed, especially considering the cold weather. But duty called, and what he wanted to do was not what he needed to do. Not if he wanted to put food on the table for them._

_He felt Steve sighing against his skin, his fingers playing with the hem of Bucky’s shirt as he tried to stay awake until Bucky left. He always did that. No matter how tired he was, he stopped himself from falling asleep if it meant that Bucky was around. Steve shifted his head slightly, just enough to kiss Bucky’s jaw, before tightening his arms around Bucky’s waist, squeezing him for a second._

_Bucky brushed his lips against Steve’s temple, kissing it softly, and grinning when he felt Steve smiling against his skin. “I’m getting up now,” he said. He felt more than heard Steve’s “okay”, but still Bucky made no effort to move. He pressed another kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “Guess one more minute won’t hurt.”_

Bucky’s heart tightened at the memory. He had fuzzy memories of holding Steve when they slept, mostly to share body heat, but he did not remember the intimacy they had. Sure, they would hug each other, and Bucky always found an excuse to have an arm thrown around Steve, but he didn’t think _cuddling_ was something they did.

He briefly wondered if Steve had ever held someone that way since Bucky had been gone.

The thought made his stomach twist. He didn’t understand why.

He slowly extracted himself from Steve, carefully getting up so he wouldn’t wake up the blond. He didn’t know how Steve would react to find Bucky in his bed so he figured that it would be better to leave before he was up. He padded towards the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, surprised to realise that he was feeling quite well rested.

He waited until the coffee brewed and rested his back against the counter, closing his eyes and tipping his head back.

“Morning.”

He eyes snapped open and he found Steve sitting on a stool, smiling at him; a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Morning.” Bucky hoped things wouldn’t get too awkward after the night before. “Coffee?” Steve nodded.

“We got any bagels left?”

“Yes. Want me to toast you one?”

“I got it.” Steve walked to stand next to him, getting out the bag with bagels. “You sleep okay?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” Bucky admitted. “I don’t usually sleep after nightmares. Must have gotten lucky last night, huh?”

Steve chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”

Bucky could feel that Steve wanted to say more. His voice was flat and there was a tension in the air that Bucky couldn’t quite put a finger on. But he figured that if there was something bothering Steve then he’d let him know; he at least hoped for that. It wouldn’t hurt to ask, though.

“Everything alright?”

“All good, pal.” Steve gave him another tight smile and walked out of the kitchen, bagel in hand. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work has been edited to split the story into two chapters.

Bucky gave Steve some space the next few days. He figured that maybe it had something to do with the fact that they shared a bed that one night. But Bucky couldn’t understand _why_ Steve would be distant over that, considering he had been the one who suggested that they sleep together. Eventually, Bucky came to the conclusion that Steve had made the decision when he was clearly tired and he regretted it the next morning.

And Bucky could understand that, he could. But it wasn’t like they’d never done it before. Or, maybe, it was because before it was different. They were young and it wasn’t a big deal, so perhaps Steve just felt strange being close to someone else. Maybe he just wasn’t comfortable being that close to Bucky anymore.

Steve had been going out more often. Getting up at the crack of dawn for his morning runs and getting back to the apartment a lot later than he used to. Sometimes he’d be gone and he’d only come back late in the afternoon and would go to bed before giving Bucky a chance to hang out with him or even having a proper conversation.

After that, it was Bucky who would either stay in his bedroom or go out, paranoia be damned. They saw each other less and less, and it was leaving Bucky increasingly worried. But whenever he saw Steve, he couldn’t tell if it was bothering him as much as it was bothering Bucky so he just let it go.

One day, Steve got back just before the sunset and Bucky called him before he got the chance to disappear yet again. He had enough of the uneasiness lingering in the air.

“Steve.” The blond in question lingered in the doorway.

“Yeah?”

“Watch a movie with me,” Bucky half asked, half ordered. “Come on, pal, it’s like we don’t even live together anymore. Please?”

Steve sucked in a breath and then walked over, sitting on the other end of the couch. “What are we watching then?”

Bucky browsed through the movie selection before picking a random one. He didn’t really want to watch a movie, mostly he just wanted an excuse to hang out with Steve, or at least to be in his presence.

They watched the movie in silence for a while but Bucky wasn’t paying much attention in the beginning which meant that he was quite lost halfway through. He gave up on watching it and looked over at Steve. Bucky chewed on his bottom lip before deciding to lie down on the couch, letting his head rest on Steve’s thigh. He waited a moment to see if Steve would move away but all he felt was some tension which immediately eased off. Bucky sighed and got himself comfortable, still looking at the TV but not giving it the slightest bit of attention.

Not long after, he felt Steve’s hand on his hair, playing with the soft strands. His eyes started fluttering when Steve started slowly massaging his scalp. It had been a long time since he had felt someone touch him in such a tender way. Bucky didn’t know if he should freak out or not. Instead, he relaxed into the touch, letting his eyes flutter as he smiled fondly.

“I woke up the other day and you were gone.”

Bucky opened his eyes and frowned. Sometimes he went out for a walk in the mornings but he didn’t know it bothered Steve.

“After you slept in my bed.” _Oh_.

Bucky turned around, so he could look up at Steve but the blond’s eyes were focused on the screen. His hand, though, was still on Bucky’s hair.

“I didn’t want things to be awkward. Figure I’d leave before you woke up.”

Steve frowned. “Why would it be awkward? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.” Then his hand stopped and he grimaced. “Shit, you don’t remem–”

“I do,” Bucky cut him off. “I mean, I know we used to sleep together in that tiny bed. That morning I just remembered something else that left me thinking, that’s all.”

“Something bad?” Steve was looking at him, worry in his eyes.

“No! Definitely not bad,” he said more to himself than to Steve. “I’m sorry. Is– is this why you’ve been gone for so long these past few days? Did I make things awkward? I fucked up, didn’t I?”

“Buck, stop,” Steve said, chuckling. “I thought _I_ made things awkward. Thought you’d gone and freaked out after waking up with me by your side. I mean, I’m probably not the prettiest sight that early in the morning, am I?” _Oh, Steve, if only you knew_.

“We’ve been running away from each other for no reason, then.” He laughed. “We need to do something about this communication issue, it seems.”

“Or you could just stay in bed next time and not run off on me.”

Bucky looked at Steve. “Next time?” Steve’s face flushed immediately and he averted his eyes away from Bucky’s. Bucky just smiled, turning on his side. “Alright, please explain what’s going on in this movie because I’m not understanding shit.” A small pause and, then, quietly, “You can keep touching my hair, if you want. That felt nice.” Steve did just that.

Bucky couldn’t help the little smile that played at his lips, but it felt so nice to be this close to Steve again. Bucky finally felt like he was getting to a place where he didn’t feel miserable all the time and day by day his will to stay alive increased. And it was all because of Steve.

He then remembered something that had been in the back of his mind for a while.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, Buck?”

“Did we, uh,” he couldn’t go back now, could he? “Did we use to snuggle a lot? Or something?”

From the corner of his eye he could swear he saw Steve smiling. “Or something,” he said quietly. “Yeah, we did. You were quite the cuddler. I guess the first few times it happened, you just held onto me thinking I was some dame and when you woke up you were really confused. But eventually, you did remember it was me and you didn’t seem to care so much.”

“Guess I had to keep you warm. I remember your feet and hands used to be cold all the time.”

“Thankfully, I don’t have that problem anymore.”

“Now you just radiate heat. Seriously, pal, you’re really warm. Not that I’m complaining.” He rested his hand on Steve’s leg. “Bet you were quite the cuddler yourself. Something tells me it wasn’t just me.”

“Well, you sure never complained.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Did anyone else complain?” He wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to know the answer to that.

“No.” Steve cleared his throat. “There wasn’t anyone else to comment on my… cuddling abilities, anyway.”

Bucky frowned. Surely that didn’t mean that Steve–

“You never–”

“Nope.”

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. He had to say that he was quite baffled at the admission. Steve was an attractive man. He was attractive when he was still a skinny guy, with his defined cheekbones and long eyelashes and golden hair. He was kind, intelligent, and polite. And sure, he had always had a problem with talking to girls but Bucky figured that maybe it would have gotten better after the serum. Maybe his body would have given him more confidence. Except this was Steve. _Steve_ , whose body had definitely changed but everything else had stayed the same.  Of course his appearance wouldn’t change the way he thought or acted.

But Steve deserved someone to make him happy. Bucky was sad at the thought of Steve being alone for so long because he deserved so much better. Someone who loved him for who he was, someone who cared about him, someone who’d be there in the good and bad moments.

“You know,” Steve said, pulling Bucky back from his thoughts, “Sam set me up on a date once. I was so nervous. I didn’t know what to say or how to make small talk. If I had little to no experience before then I’m even worse now. But she was so lovely and made the night a lot better. She was really understanding as well. But, you know, I wasn’t about to give her false hope. We had dinner and that was it.” He shrugged. “I think it’s better this way. I’m good like this.”

“You deserve to be happy, Steve. You never think of settling down?”

“Between saving the world and all the suicide missions I go on, I don’t think I have time for that. Not even if I wanted to. I would never subject someone to that. It’s too chaotic.”

“What if it’s someone who does the same you do?”

Steve laughed. “The Avengers are great but I don’t want to date any of them. Plus, with everything that happened it’s not like I’m going to be seeing them anytime soon.”

“Seems like you’re stuck with me,” Bucky joked.

“I could think of worse people to be stuck with,” Steve said, grinning. “You’re not too bad.”

Bucky winked. “Well,” he said, sighing dramatically, “I think I’m going to head off to bed now. I guess there’s something about you that makes me want to fall asleep.” He got up, momentarily frowning at the loss of Steve’s fingers on his hair.

“Gee, Buck, go easy on the compliments, will you?”

“I try.” He laughed as he walked towards his bedroom, hearing Steve mumble to himself.

 

* * *

 

Bucky was in bed. He was in bed but he couldn’t sleep which was ridiculous because he was ready to doze off on Steve’s lap just three hours ago. But now he was wide awake and no amount of turning and repositioning would bring his sleepiness back. Eventually, he gave up and looked towards the door. He contemplated it for a second before shaking his head. But then again… Steve _did_ say that he didn’t mind sleeping next to Bucky. And, maybe, if Steve was having as much trouble falling asleep as him then they could both benefit from it, again. It sure seemed to work the other night.

He groaned at himself as he got out of bed, and walked slowly out of the bedroom, almost as if expecting his body to decide if he should keep going or just turn around. He opened Steve’s door as quietly as possibly, and walked in.

“You’ve got to stop sneaking in on me like that.”

If he wasn’t a trained assassin then he would have jumped at Steve’s voice.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” Bucky mumbled, approaching the bed.

“Another nightmare?”

Bucky shook his head. “No. I just… Can’t sleep. Again.” He could feel Steve staring at him and, after a brief pause, the blond shuffled to his side.

“You gonna stand there all night or are you going to get in?”

“Always so bossy,” he mumbled under his breath, getting inside the covers, with his back to Steve.

“I heard that.” Steve shuffled closer. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky reached behind his back, getting hold of Steve’s arm and bringing it around to rest on his waist. “You’re too big to be the little spoon now.” He shivered when he felt Steve’s breath on the back of his neck but it didn’t stop him from smiling, especially when Steve held him tighter.

“We can try that some other time.”

“Sure.”

He closed his eyes, and rested his hand on top of Steve’s, hoping that sleep would come easier this way. And if it didn’t? Well, in that case it wouldn’t be so bad either. Not when he felt so warm.

Sleep didn’t come right away, but when it did it was short lived because Bucky felt the bed shaking. If he wasn’t such a light sleeper he wouldn’t have felt it but he did, and it didn’t take him long to realise that the shaking was due to Steve. He was whimpering and shaking in his sleep, his face scrunched up in pain.

“Steve,” Bucky whispered. “Steve, wake up.” His hand rested on Steve’s shoulder, carefully shaking him awake so as to not startle him. “Wake up, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes flew open and he sat up on the bed in less than a second, startling Bucky, and moving as far away as he could. His hands were on his hair, gripping it so tightly that it felt painful to just watch. He was breathing harshly, and Bucky avoided touching him so as not to scare him off. Adjusting to reality after a nightmare wasn’t easy.

“It was a nightmare. You’re okay, Steve. It wasn’t real.”

He watched as Steve evened out his breath, hands slowly leaving his hair and running down his face. It took him a moment and then Steve was collapsing against Bucky, holding him so tight that the air was knocked off of Bucky.

Bucky lay back down, gentling taking Steve with him, all the while rubbing Steve’s back. Tears were running down his neck where Steve’s face rested. Bucky didn’t say anything, instead allowing Steve to let it all out. Who knew how long he had been bottling up his emotions. How long had it been since he had someone to comfort him? The thought of Steve willing himself to be strong and repressing his feelings made his stomach twist.

He kissed the top of Steve’s head and felt the blond’s hand tightening around his bicep. Steve sniffled and moved his head to rest on Bucky’s shoulder.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky lied. “Wanna talk?” He felt Steve shaking his head. “Okay.”

His hand moved to Steve’s hair, slowly playing with the soft strands, trying to lull him back to sleep. They stayed like that for what could have been either minutes or hours, until both managed to fall asleep again.

 

* * *

 

When Bucky woke up next, the first thing he did was smile. His eyes were still closed but he could feel the weight of Steve’s body on his and the calm pattern of Steve’s breathing against Bucky’s chest. It wasn’t hard to tell that the blond was still asleep so Bucky took the time to cherish the moment, careful not to wake him up.

This time, Bucky didn’t try to extract himself from Steve’s bed before he woke up. Not only because he didn’t want a repeat of the previous week but because there was just no reason to. Any other time Bucky would flinch at the mere thought of someone touching him, no matter who it was. But now that he had Steve in his arms he felt _safe_. Like that was the place he was meant to be. And it was a weird feeling; he couldn’t decide if it was good weird or bad weird. All he knew was that he liked having Steve so close and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Steve woke up, and stretched slowly, probably because he was wary of waking Bucky up. Bucky didn’t say anything, but focused of the way Steve moved, a small smile playing at his lips. Steve moved his face to look at Bucky, eyes still full of sleep, making Bucky’s heart flutter.

“Oh,” Steve said, voice still weak. “Up already?”

Bucky nodded. “Don’t worry, I slept. Woke up a few minutes before you.”

“Okay.” Steve sighed and rested his head on Bucky’s chest.

Bucky would have liked to stay in that position for the rest of the day. Unfortunately for him, reality was a thing that did not allow his wishes to come true and before he knew it he and Steve were having breakfast.

He couldn’t help but notice that Steve was unusually quiet, and he knew that it was due to the nightmare he had. Normally, Bucky would never press Steve to talk about something he didn’t want but he figured that it had been a long time coming. In all the time they had lived together, Bucky noticed that Steve would constantly bottle up his feelings and, really, it was hypocritical of him to think like that considering he did the same, but he’d be damned if he didn’t do something before Steve kept leading himself into self-destruction.

“Do you want to talk?” He asked. “About your nightmares.”

“No.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “Why?”

Steve clenched his jaw, tightening his grip around his spoon. “Because.”

“It's not doing you any good.”

“Just leave it, Buck. I don’t want to talk.” He would not look at Bucky. “I’m fine. I was fine before and I’m fine now.” He left the kitchen before Bucky had a chance to say anything.

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist and it took all his willpower not to go after Steve.

On the one hand, it was satisfying to finally see Steve showing some sort of negative emotion. Bucky knew that, eventually, the tough guy mask he put on a daily basis had to fall. But Bucky also wished that Steve would stop running away from his problems as if waiting for them to disappear. Or maybe he didn’t want them to disappear. Maybe Steve liked suffering. And that thought alone was disturbing.

When Bucky finished breakfast Steve was already gone, and Bucky didn’t know what to do with himself. He briefly wished that Sam was around because Sam would know how to deal with Steve, better than Bucky did nowadays, it seemed. That wasn’t an option and, even if it was, he doubted that Sam would want to speak to Bucky of all people.

So he wandered to the library, sitting down on his favourite chair and picking up a random book to pass the time. It proved to be useless because he kept reading and rereading the same sentence since his brain refused to register the words. He kept thinking of Steve and Steve and _Steve_. Bucky wanted Steve to come back from wherever he’d gone, he wanted to curl up with Steve and hold him and just be with him.

Bucky briefly wondered when they’d become so codependent.

The more he thought about it, the more he realised that they’d always been like that.

Even when he didn’t _remember_ he had felt that pull towards Steve. That had been the reason he saved Steve from drowning. That had been what helped him start recovering his memories, no matter how long it took. That was probably why most of his memories involved Steve one way or another. But that didn’t surprise him.

Because Bucky loved Steve.

 

* * *

 

It was already dark outside when Steve got back. Bucky heard the door closing, heard the footsteps around the apartment, until he felt Steve’s presence in the room. Neither said anything and Bucky didn’t acknowledge Steve’s presence.

“I’m sorry.”

Bucky turned his head, briefly looking at Steve before bringing his attention back to his book. “For?”

“Earlier.” Steve moved forward, sitting on the couch. “I know that you’re trying to help.”

“So why won’t you let me?”

Steve shrugged. “I’m not worth all the trouble.”

Bucky tossed his book aside, not caring where it landed, and chuckled darkly. “Seriously? You’re saying that to _me_?”

“Buck–”

“You are worth everything to me, Steve.” He looked at Steve until the blond met his eyes. “Stop trying to downplay your emotions like you don’t matter. I know how much you’ve been struggling so why don’t you start acknowledging what you’re going through?”

“I don’t want to feel like this anymore,” he said quietly. “So much has happened, and I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Bucky moved to sit next to Steve, holding his hand. “I’m here to help. Fuck knows there’s not much I can do, and I'm just as fucked up, but I’m here for you, Stevie. Whatever you want, whatever you need, I’ll be here.”

“For how long?”

Bucky frowned. “Steve, I already promised that I’m not going to leave again. Do you not trust me?”

“I do,” Steve said, voice wavering. “I’m just scared, I guess. You’ve left before, more than once.”

Bucky let go of Steve’s hand to touch his cheek, holding his gaze. “You’ve got me. I’m here. For as long as you want.”

“That might be quite a long time.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Steve nodded. “I, uh, I talked to T’challa today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “I told him that I want to start seeing a therapist. I know I’m always going to be fucked up but I might as well try and do something about it. I’ve been avoiding it for too long, but I think it’s time.”

Bucky smiled. “I’m proud of you, Steve.”

“He said that he’d take care of choosing someone trustworthy.” He looked at Bucky, biting his bottom lip. “If you ever want to try it… You just have to give him the word.”

Bucky nodded. “Maybe not just yet. But… Eventually, yeah. Maybe.” And that seemed to be enough for Steve.

Steve shuffled around the couch, dragging Bucky down with him. They settled on their sides with Steve’s back against Bucky chest, and their hands linked.

“The nightmares,” Steve said, “they’re always the same. I’m either crashing the plane, or they’re torturing you and I’m unable to do anything. But last night…” He took a breath and Bucky squeezed his hand. “Last night it was me hurting you. I hurt you and then I said the words. And you were going to kill me.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heart hammering in against his ribcage. “Not real.”

Steve turned around, throwing an arm around Bucky's waist. Bucky rested their foreheads together and… _had Steve’s eyes always been so blue_?

“I’m never letting anyone hurt you again,” Steve said softly. “Not while I’m still alive to stop it.”

Bucky nodded, unable to speak, because – _shit_ – Steve was beautiful. He always thought Steve was beautiful; when they were kids, when they were teenagers, when Steve was small and when he was suddenly made of muscles. But, god, he was beautiful and Bucky couldn’t look away from his eyes. He couldn’t pry his eyes from his long eyelashes, and his cheekbones, and his mouth. His _lips_. Had his lips always been so full and so red?

Bucky was treading dangerous territory. He cleared his throat and, somehow, managed to look away.

“Wanna watch a movie?” He tried to ask as casually as possible. He couldn’t help but notice how Steve’s eyes flashed with something he couldn’t quite understand.

“Sure.” Steve turned around and tried to wiggle his way out of Bucky’s grasp but Bucky only held him tighter.

“Comfy.”

“Okay,” Steve chuckled.

 

* * *

 

The next day Steve got up at dawn for his early morning jog. When Bucky made his way to the living room he found Steve’s sketchbook with a post-it on top.

_Since you seem to miss my drawings._

Bucky smiled as he sat himself on the couch, and opened the notebook. The first few pages were filled with quick sketches of Brooklyn, clearly drawn from memory because it looked a lot like their old neighbourhood. There were doodles of landscapes, people at parks, a dog running with a tennis ball in his mouth, the market that was pretty close to their apartment in Wakanda and had everything from antiques to fruit. It was filled with scenery from New York and Wakanda.

Then there were a couple of blank pages.

And then there was Bucky.

He sat up straighter, brows furrowing in concentration. There was Bucky when he was preteen, sprawled on the floor playing with improvised toys. There was Bucky stuffing his face with cotton candy from that time he and Steve had gone to Coney Island, a delirious happy smile on his face. Bucky wearing his military outfit, a small trademark smirk playing at his lips. There was Bucky in various stages of his life, and he wondered if Steve had drawn it all from memory or if he had a small stack of photos that Bucky didn’t know of.

He kept flicking page after page until he found more recent drawings. One of them was of Bucky leaning against his favourite armchair, legs dangling on the armrest. He remembered that as being the day when he asked Steve about his drawings and Steve had promised to show them in time. He now understood why Steve kept glancing up at him that day. He’d been sketching Bucky and Bucky hadn’t even realised.

There were sketches of Bucky smiling and of Bucky scrunching his face in concentration and of Bucky pouting and Bucky, Bucky, _Bucky_.

His heart swelled in his chest and suddenly his eyes were stinging.

Was he in Steve’s mind that often that all he’d drawn lately was Bucky? It seemed like he thought of Bucky as much as Bucky thought of him, if the drawings were anything to go by. Could it be some sort of coping mechanism to deal with his problems? And was there a reason why Steve wanted to show him the drawings? There were a million questions in his mind and he wanted answers.

More than anything, he wanted Steve.

And wasn’t that a scary thought?

 

* * *

 

When Steve returned home, Bucky was certain he knew that Bucky went through his sketchbook. There was an unspoken acknowledgement in the way Steve’s eyes glinted when they looked at each other.

The next couple of days passed in a haze. They went out for walks together, in one or two occasions Steve managed to drag Bucky with him for a jog, much to the brunet’s protests. They hung out together in the library, a comfortable silence all around them as they got lost in their books, with Steve sometimes drawing something (Bucky). They’d make dinner together and Bucky realised that he was starting to pick up some tips. One night he ventured in the kitchen and tried to make lasagne. It had too much sauce and not enough meat but Steve assured him that he loved it.

They had a surprise visit from T’challa who updated them with news of the other Avengers. Bucky seemed to grow fonder of T’challa as time went by, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Perhaps one day they would become friends. He'd also decided by then that it was time for him to see a therapist as well, a confession that seemed to please both T'challa and Steve alike. T'challa promised to let him know when found someone suitable for him.

Steve and Bucky were curled up on the couch one night, pressed against each other, even though there was enough space for them to spread out comfortably. Bucky fluttered his eyes, smiling lazily when he felt Steve subtly pressed a kiss on the back of his neck. Their touches kept getting more and more intimate, and Bucky was aware that there seemed to be little to no boundaries between them.

They didn’t really talk about it. They just let it happen because it was clear that it made both of them happy. But Bucky _did_ want to talk about it. He wanted to be able to tell Steve how much he meant to him. He wanted to be able to kiss Steve and to show him that he was _everything_ to Bucky. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Bucky wanted to kiss Steve.

When that realisation hit him it freaked him out, and left him confused for days until he accepted that it wasn’t going to change, no matter how scary this new realisation had been.

Bucky knew that Steve cared about him a lot. Knew that Bucky was, possibly, the most important person in his life. But he didn’t know if Steve felt the same way about him. He was scared of rejection and he’d rather spend the rest of his life being Steve’s best friend than lose him because his feelings were not reciprocated. He couldn’t handle the thought of Steve telling him that he loved Bucky, but not in _that_ way. He didn’t want to see the look of pity in his eyes every time he looked at Bucky because it would quite simply kill him. So he didn’t say anything.

But he knew now more than ever that he was in love with Steve Rogers.

He wondered if before the train he had felt that way. He couldn’t remember being in love with Steve before. But if the memories he had – full of Steve and Steve and _Steve_ – were anything to go by, then he didn’t doubt it one bit.

He was almost dozing off to the sound of the movie they were watching when he felt Steve lacing their fingers together. Those simple gestures seemed so small but they were so meaningful. Bucky’s heart felt so full whenever he thought of Steve; whenever Steve was around. And that was something he never thought he’d have back. _Feeling_. They had conditioned him to be an emotionless killing machine and then came Steve to undo everything that he had been programmed to do.

Bucky turned around, facing Steve and keeping hold of his hand. He looked into Steve’s sleepy eyes, trying to force himself not to stare too long lest he give away all his feelings with a simple look. But it was hard when Steve looked at him with so much fondness, and what Bucky wanted to believe was _love_.

He sighed, giving Steve’s hand a quick squeeze. “Steve, I–” He what? He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It would be a dangerous move. Instead, he settled for, “Your hair looks funny.”

Steve was quiet for a moment, looking at Bucky as if he was studying his face. “I’m sure it looks better than yours.”

Bucky huffed and rested his head on Steve’s shoulder. “Sleepy,” he mumbled. “But I don’t want to move.”

“We can sleep here tonight.”

“Okay.” He closed his eyes and felt Steve’s arms tightening around him. Before he fell asleep he felt a kiss being pressed to his temple, and heard Steve mumbling something. He couldn’t figure out what.

 

* * *

 

For once, it was Bucky convincing Steve to go for an early morning walk. Steve had cocked an eyebrow, surprised at the unexpected invitation but didn’t comment on it. After breakfast, they made their way to park close to their apartment. There weren’t many people out yet, considering it was Sunday morning, so they enjoyed the peace while it lasted. They walked around for quite some time before sitting on a bench overlooking the vastness of the park.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve was looking at him, seeming lost in thought.

“Yeah?”

“Remember when you asked me if I was happy?”

“I do.” Bucky nodded, remembering how Steve had told him that guys like them didn’t get to be happy like other people.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be at that place again. And I’m not one hundred percent there yet. I’m sure I never will. But…” He turned to Bucky, resting his face on his hand. “I think I’m getting there.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Steve reached out to hold Bucky’s hand. “And it’s all because of you.”

Bucky felt a rush of warmth and affection like he hadn’t felt in a long time. He ran his fingers through Steve’s knuckles, looking at their hands and the way they fit together. “I feel the same way.” He looked at Steve. “You know that, right?”

Steve nodded. “I’m glad.”

As he spent the rest of the afternoon with Steve, he couldn’t stop thinking about the moment they’d had. He didn’t want to read too much into anything – the way they had gotten even closer than they were before, their touches, and the looks they shared. He’d come to the decision that he was going to tell Steve how he really felt. It was a dangerous move and he feared the consequences. But it was only fair – both to him and Steve – that he put himself out there. After all, he’d always been bold at making his decisions and, whatever the outcome, at least he would _know_ instead of spending the rest of his life wondering _what if?_

 

* * *

 

Bucky strolled into the kitchen, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder as the blond diced onions. Steve leaned his head back and dropped a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. He felt his face warm up and he only hoped that Steve hadn't noticed.

“Steve, could we talk? After dinner?”

Steve turned around, brows furrowing in worry. “Is everything okay?” He sucked in a breath. “Are you–”

“I’m not going to freeze myself again,” he quickly cut Steve. “It’s just… It’s no big deal. Actually, it is a big deal but–”

“Buck. It’s okay. You can tell me now.”

“But dinner…”

“It can wait. This sounds important.”

Steve motioned towards the living room, and Bucky followed him, heart beating faster than ever before. As they sat facing each other, Bucky could feel Steve’s eyes on him but the blond didn’t press him, instead he waited until Bucky was ready to speak.

It was now or never.

“You know how much you mean to me, Steve. I really hope you do. And I’m sorry if this changes anything.” He took in a deep breath. “When I started remembering my past, it didn’t take me too long to realise that you were the most important person in my life. Especially since all of my memories revolve around you. I thought that it was normal, at first, because you’re my best friend. But these past few months… I started to realise that there’s something else. Everything’s so much better when you’re around.” He looked at Steve. “You gave me back the will to live again, Steve. You’re like the light at the end of the tunnel. I want you around all the time and I can’t bear the thought of not having you in my life. You’re everything I’ve got left and I…” His breath hitched in his throat. “I’m in love with you, Steve.” The words came out just barely above a whisper, but he knew that it was still loud enough for Steve to hear him. _Please don’t hate me_.

Bucky looked away from Steve, not finding the strength to look at him. They were quiet for a moment and with each passing second Bucky started to regret everything. This was it. He was going to lose his best friend and be miserable again. Steve was going to let him down easy and tell him that they’d still be friends; that nothing would have to change. And Bucky would die a little inside each and every day.

He felt Steve shuffling closer and felt Steve’s hand gently coming to rest on his cheek, moving it ever so slightly so that Bucky would look at him. His eyes were twinkling, almost as if he was trying to hold back tears.

“Did you mean all of that?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Buck…” Steve searched his face but all Bucky could do was look back. “Why are you so scared?”

Bucky wanted to laugh because, really? How could he not be scared? “Because I’m going to lose you.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because I just told you I’m in love with you and now everything’s going to–” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence so he just shrugged. “I just don’t want you to hate me, Stevie,” he whispered, feeling smaller than ever.

"How could I ever hate you?" Steve frowned and moved closer to Bucky. “Do you remember when our families were struggling for money and my ma couldn’t afford to give me anything on my sixteenth birthday?” Bucky nodded, wondering where this was going to lead. “You worked extra hours at the docks just so you could scrape enough money to get me something. You came over that night, and I could see how tired you were. I couldn’t understand why you were working yourself to exhaustion. When we sat on my bedroom floor, you gave me a new sketchbook and charcoal pencils, then you got that muffin out of the brown bag you were hiding and stuck a candle in it and you sang happy birthday to me. Suddenly everything made sense.” His voice cracked and Bucky looked at him as tears started streaming down his face. Steve was still smiling. “I’ve loved you from that moment, Buck.”

Bucky was at a loss for words. He felt like he was dreaming; like the whole world had stopped moving. “Since we were sixteen?” He managed.

Steve nodded. “I’ve loved you for as long as I remember. But that night… I just knew.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve laughed, shaking his head. “How could I? You know how dangerous it was at that time. Not to mention how popular you were with the dames.” He shrugged. “I didn’t even know you liked guys.”

“So you chose to suffer in silence all those years? Fuck, Steve. If only I had known.” He held Steve’s hand, gripping it tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I wish I could change everything.”

But Steve was shaking his head. “It’s okay Buck–”

“It’s not!”

“It is,” Steve insisted. “It is because we’re both here now. Isn’t that ironic? It’s like life gave us another chance, after fucking us over for decades.”

Bucky chuckled at that. “I can’t believe this.” His heart felt tight and he couldn’t hold back his tears anymore.

Steve traced his cheekbone with his thumb. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

Bucky’s eyes lit up, and he leaned forward so fast that they bumped their noses together. They both hissed at the contact and then Steve was pressing his lips against Bucky’s and suddenly Bucky didn’t feel anything except the soft lips moving against his. He parted his lips slightly, licking Steve’s bottom one before feeling Steve’s tongue sliding against his. They kissed slowly and lazily, learning the curves of each other’s mouths. Now that Bucky had this, he was sure that he wouldn’t want anything else.

When they parted for air, they rested their foreheads together, smiling happily.

“You’re crying,” Bucky said, gently wiping a tear from Steve’s face. “I don’t ever want to see you cry.”

“Happy tears,” Steve said. “You know, from the onions.”

Bucky pinched Steve’s hip, making him jump slightly. “You were cutting onions twenty minutes ago.”

“Fine!” Steve threw his legs over Bucky’s lap, resting his face against the back of the couch. “Maybe I’m crying because my best guy admitted that he’s in love with me. I’ve been dreaming about this for about eighty years.”

Bucky kissed Steve on his lips, on his cheeks, on his jaw. “I’m going to be reminding you of that every day.”

“Oh my, is Bucky Barnes a romantic?” Steve smiled, eyes glinting with happiness.

“Only for you.” He winked. “Dinner now?”

“Nope.” Steve pushed him back until he was lying down on the couch. Steve sprawled himself on top of Bucky, kissing his neck. “We’ve got some catching up to do.”

Bucky feigned a noise of annoyance. “I _guess_ I can live with that.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky sometimes wondered if everything had come full circle. The starting point being when he was best friends with Steve before and during the war, the middle ground being when he was captured by Hydra, tortured and manipulated for decades, and now back to Steve. Deep down, he still felt like he didn’t deserve it, but somehow he thought that being with Steve was almost like life’s way of apologising for everything that he’d gone through.

Every day he would wake up with Steve by his side, and every day they’d hold each other, kiss, and look at each other like they were each other’s whole world. And, for Bucky’s part, it was true. Everything he’d ever done and everything he was still to do was for Steve. It was always Steve.

He smiled when he felt Steve’s arms wrapping around his waist. He turned his head to capture the blond’s lips in a quick kiss before going back to the chopping board.

“Making me dinner again? I’m a lucky man.”

Bucky laughed. “Don’t jinx it. Remember the last time I tried to make you food? We’re lucky I didn’t poison you.”

“See, if you do poison me–” he chuckled at Bucky’s grunt, “then you can be my nurse and take good care of me.”

Bucky turned around, resting his hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Is this a fantasy of yours? I’m not wearing a nurse outfit, Rogers.”

“No.” Steve’s eyes darkened. “I think I’d much rather see you in your military uniform. Or the Commandos one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned closer, nuzzling his nose along Bucky’s cheekbone. “You have no idea how hard it was to stop myself from dragging you somewhere and fuck you against a wall whenever I saw you.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky groaned, pressing himself against Steve, willing himself not to drag him to the bedroom. “I remembered something earlier today.”

“Tell me.”

He held Steve’s face in his hand and kissed him softly. “You told me about the time you realised you were in love with me. And before that I’d been wondering if I felt the same way about you, you know, _before_.” Steve nodded. “And it all came back to me. I remember now.”

“You do?”

“Winter of 1935,” he started, linking his fingers with Steve’s. “You were bedridden. I’d never seen you that ill before. You were shaking, had a fever, you could barely keep your eyes open. I thought that that was it. At any moment you were going to have your last breath, so I refused to leave your side for three whole days. I couldn’t even bring myself to feel guilty that I was worrying your ma even more. I couldn’t sleep and I just kept hoping and praying that you’d live through that.” His voice wavered and Steve squeezed his hand. “But you made it.” He smiled. “Stubborn little bastard who refused to give up.”

“That’s me.” Steve’s eyes were watering.

“I crawled into your bed on of those nights and held you. You told me I’d get me sick but I couldn’t care less. I just wanted to protect you, Steve. And then you woke up the next morning and you looked at me with those big blue eyes. You looked so small and fragile… I knew then that I was a goner.”

Steve smiled, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. “So you realised that you loved me when I looked like shit.”

“Well, if that ain’t love.” Bucky laughed. “I don’t think there was ever a time when I didn’t love you, Steve. Even when we were kids.”

“You’ll be pleased to know that the feeling is mutual.”

They kissed each other until Steve was prompting Bucky to forget about dinner, yet _again_ , but Bucky was having none of it.

 

* * *

 

“I must say,” Steve started, with a sigh, “your cooking skills are improving. That was actually edible. If I hadn’t been in the kitchen with you I don’t think I’d believe that you made it.”

Bucky snorted. “You have so much faith in your boyfriend. Truly, I appreciate it.” Steve grinned at him, not saying anything. “What?”

“Boyfriend?”

Bucky blushed, suddenly realising what he’d said. “Oh. I mean– I don’t– I’m n–“

Steve cut him off with a kiss. “I do have a lot of faith in _my boyfriend_. Maybe one of these days I’ll get breakfast in bed?” Steve looked at Bucky, hopeful.

“No.” Bucky rolled his eyes, biting his lip to stop himself from smiling. He propped his feet on the coffee table. “You’ll have to earn that.”

“And how will I go about doing that?”

Bucky smirked, focusing his gaze on the TV. “You’ll have to figure it out yourself.”

Then, Steve was scooting closer, sliding his arm around Bucky’s waist while he grabbed the remote with his free hand and turned the TV off.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. “I was watching that.”

“Hm.” Steve slung one of his legs over Bucky’s thighs and straddled him, winding his arms around Bucky’s neck. “I’d rather watch you instead.”

“Is that right?”

“Yes.” He leaned down, kissing Bucky softly, fingers lazily stroking the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky smiled, willing his heart to stop beating so fast – which was an impossible task whenever Steve touched him just the right way. He settled his hands on Steve’s thighs, giving them a long squeeze, before moving his hands to rest on Steve’s ass. They kissed harder, and sloppily, tracing each other’s mouths and, next thing Bucky knew, Steve was moving his hips ever so slowly. If Bucky wasn’t so good at registering even the smallest of movements then he wouldn’t have noticed. But he did. And then he was gripping Steve’s ass, prompting him to move _closer_ and Steve moaned when the friction increased.

Steve fisted his hands in Bucky’s hair, making Bucky moan when he tugged it. When they broke their kiss, they looked at each other, and Bucky almost felt weak when he saw how much Steve’s eyes had darkened, making them more beautiful than ever.

“I want you,” Steve whispered, pecking Bucky’s lips, and looking expectantly at him. When Bucky simply stared, instead of replying, he started to pull back until Bucky shook his head and chuckled lowly. He leaned forward and kissed Steve, licking his bottom lip.

“You’ve got me.”

He got up, feeling Steve wrap his legs around his waist, and walked to Steve’s bedroom, gently dropping him on the bed, and crawling over his body.

Steve held Bucky’s face in his hands, looking adoringly at him. “I’ve waited years for this moment.”

Bucky nudged their noses together but couldn’t hide his smile. “Sap.”

“Had to ruin the moment, didn’t you?” Steve bit Bucky’s lip, earning a soft groan in response.

Bucky’s hand trailed down Steve’s chest, appreciating the defined muscles hidden underneath his shirt, until they rested on Steve’s crotch, giving it a quick squeeze. “Think I know just how to make it up to you.”

“Yeah?” Steve lifted his hips, searching for more contact than what he was receiving.

“Yeah.” Bucky leaned back, taking his shirt off and throwing it to the side. Before he knew it, Steve’s hands were on him, fingers tracing his defined muscles and his mouth dropping open. Bucky watched as Steve kissed his skin, hands roaming on Bucky’s body, before unbuttoning his pants.

“Too many clothes,” Steve whined, frustrated.

Bucky laughed and stepped back, appreciating Steve’s cry when they stopped touching. Quickly, both of them discarded their clothes, and Bucky was on Steve in a heartbeat. They gasped when they pressed against each other, years of pent up lust, want, and frustration finally paying off.

Steve looked at Bucky, with wide, dark blue eyes and leaned up to kiss him harder than before. Bucky smiled against his lips, especially when Steve’s legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer.

“You really want this?”

Steve groaned. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life, Buck.”

Bucky was never one to deny him anything.

 

* * *

 

Later they lay in bed, legs tangled together, as Steve rested his head on Bucky’s chest. Bucky stroked Steve’s back, both appreciating the comfortable, happy silence around them.

It all very much felt like a dream to Bucky. He never thought that he’d get to have _this_ with Steve. He’d dreamt about it, endlessly, but he knew that it wouldn’t be good to dwell on dreams. Not back then, at least. But now? Now he wished that he could, somehow, go back in time and tell himself that, one day, everything would work in their favour, no matter how many obstacles they'd have to overcome.

“It’s funny,” Steve murmured, “I used to dream about this a lot. I guess dreams really do come true.” Sometimes Bucky wondered if Steve was able to read his thoughts.

“You used to dream about lying naked in bed with me?”

The blond turned his head, resting his chin on Bucky’s chest. “I used to dream about being with you. In every possible way. And, yes, it did include this.”

Bucky smiled, gently stroking his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone. “I love you so much.”

Steve bit his lip, simply gazing at Bucky for a moment before he was straddling Bucky's thighs and sprawling himself on top of him. He leaned down and kissed him softly. “Say it again.”

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Bucky smiled, nuzzling their noses together. “I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve sighed against him, holding his face, and kissing every inch of skin he could get his lips on. “I love you, too. You have no idea just how much.”

“If it’s anywhere near how much I love you, then I might have an idea.”

Steve rested his head on Bucky’s chest, smiling when Bucky wrapped his arm around him, holding him as close as possible.

Bucky felt Steve’s fingers tracing the scarred skin just below his left shoulder. “It doesn’t freak you out?”

Steve looked up at him, his fingers still moving gently. “Why would it freak me out?”

Bucky looked at the place where his left arm had once been. “It’s–” He sighed. “I don’t know.” He wanted to say that it looked ugly, with all the scars and the memories it sometimes brought him. He hated that a part of him was missing; it left him feeling hideous.

“Buck,” Steve whispered, “I would have loved you with the metal arm, and I love you like this. I know that it’s hard to deal with the fact that you lost your arm, but you’re still here. These,” he traced the scars on the shoulder, “they’re battle scars.” He leaned closer to kiss them and Bucky had to force himself to not let his tears fall, even if his eyes were stinging.

But when Steve rolled on his back and pulled Bucky into his arms, whispering soothing words in his ear – words of love, and affection, full of promises – he just couldn’t hold them back anymore.

 

* * *

 

Bucky woke up the next day with the feeling of kisses being pressed on the back of his neck, and he couldn’t help but smile, eyes still closed like he was in some sort of dream. Sometime during the night, they had shifted so that Steve was spooning him, arms tight around him. Bucky pressed himself closer to Steve, feeling the blond smile against his skin.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Steve whispered.

Bucky turned in Steve’s arms, lazily opening his eyes and smiling at him. He took in the sight of Steve, still sleepy, and with his dishevelled hair. “Good morning, indeed.”

_Steve crawled into bed, draping the blankets over him, before snuggling close to Bucky. Bucky shifted so that he could hold Steve in his arms, kissing his cheek, one hand lazily stroking Steve’s back._

_“No work tomorrow,” Steve whispered. “We can sleep in.”_

_“Seems like that’s always your plan, even during the week.”_

_Steve chuckled. “It’s hard when you leave every morning. I lose all the warmth.”_

_“Oh, is that all I’m good for?”_

_Steve moved to lie on Bucky. He fit so nicely between Bucky’s legs, and his weight was perfect on top of him. “No,” he kissed Bucky’s collarbone, “you’re good for a lot of things.”_

_Bucky hummed. “May have to convince me of that because now I’m not so sure.”_

_“I see what you’re doing.” Steve grinned, nuzzling Bucky’s neck before pressing a soft kiss there. He propped himself on his elbow, the fingers of his free hand stroking Bucky’s cheekbone. Steve sighed and leaned down, kissing Bucky so lightly and quickly that he could have missed it. “What do you want, Buck?”_

_Bucky tightened his arms around Steve, eyes focused on his lips. “Kiss me.” He brought his hand to the back of Steve’s neck and gently pulled him down, capturing soft lips with his own._

“Buck?”

Steve was looking at him, a wary expression on his face. Bucky bit his lip, and shuffled closer, tangling his legs with Steve’s.

“We were together before.” He searched Steve’s eyes. “There are things I can remember… We were more than just friends, weren’t we?”

Steve smiled. “It was nothing official. We never really talked about being together, but it just felt natural.” He shrugged. “I guess we could say that, though.”

“Did I still see other people? Girls?”

Steve looked away, and the answer seemed obvious then. “Sometimes. You went on some dates; kissed them. But it was never more than that, at least not when we became more than friends.” He smiled sadly. “You had to do it otherwise people would find it odd, especially since you were so popular with the girls.”

Bucky frowned. “I didn’t have to do it.” He pulled Steve closer. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

“Don’t be,” Steve said, holding onto Bucky’s arm. “I understood. You always told me you’d rather stay with me than go out with them. I believed you.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve. “You’re too good to be true.”

 

* * *

 

When Bucky first arrived in Wakanda he felt like he was an animal trapped in a cage yet again. When he arrived, he had made the decision to go back into cryo until there was a way to decondition him entirely. But then Steve had changed all of his plans and his way of seeing things. Bucky had taken his time getting adjusted to everything, and Steve had been nothing short of patient. Bucky had been so sure that eventually he’d fuck up but, somehow, Steve had never seemed to give up on him. It was overwhelming, knowing that someone still had so much faith in him, but day by day Bucky had started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he was worth _something_. Steve made him see that every day, in the little gestures – the things he said, the small touches, the looks shared between the two of them.

Bucky liked being in Wakanda. He knew that, eventually, he and Steve would be free to leave, under which circumstances he didn’t know. But for the time being he was happy where he was, just as long as Steve was with him. That’s all he ever needed.

He looked to where Steve was resting on Bucky’s chest, the two of them lying on the couch once again, and he couldn’t help but run his fingers across Steve’s face, tracing a high cheekbone and down to his jaw. He noticed how Steve’s eyes fluttered, long eyelashes resting against his skin. Steve looked up and smiled at Bucky. A smile he’d never get tired of seeing. A smile that was just for _him_.

“I love you, more than anything. You know that, right?” He whispered, looking into those eyes he had fallen in love with all those lifetimes ago.

“I know.” Steve leaned to his side, kissing Bucky’s hand. “I love you, Buck. So much.”

“I was always certain that I’d never find anyone who I’d care about as much as I care about you,” Bucky said. “I didn’t think I’d ever find happiness with anyone but you. But we made it… Against all odds, we made it.”

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky. “You know that I’ve never been one to believe in destiny or soulmates. But one thing that I’ve known for sure since we were sixteen is that you’re the love of my life. That has never changed, and it never will.”

“Good,” Bucky said, holding Steve’s gaze. “Because I don’t plan on ever letting you go.”

“You’re stuck with me, Barnes.”

“’Til the end of the line, right?”

Steve smiled. “Always.”

Bucky could live with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that was a good read! Feedback is always much appreciated.


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